The old man was sitting on a bench in the park where our high school cross country trains. We trained almost everyday after school. He would sit and watch us and smile and wave as we ran past him. One day, a couple of the girls, Kylie and Kennedy, went over to say hello. The next day, a couple of the guys stopped by and talked to him for a while. After a couple of days, I walked over with Toni and Kyce and started talking to him. "Hi," I said, "my name is Nigel and I run cross country."

We found out that his name was Mr. Parsons. He was retired and living near the park. I could tell right away that he was very interested in cross country. He soon became a regular fixture at our work-out sessions.

In early October, I turned an ankle during a work-out in the park. Coach Kimbell said that I should take a few days off, just do some stretching and a little walking. Mr. Parsons saw me and asked if I minded if he walked with me for a while. I found that he ran cross country in high school and in college. As we walked, he asked me about my work-out schedule, mileage, times and what types of work-outs I preferred. I could tell that he knew quite a bit about cross country.

After a few days, my ankle was fully recovered and I was back to my regular training routine. Mr. Parsons became a fixture at our work-out sessions and Coach Kimbell seemed to really enjoy having someone around with a genuine interest in cross country.

Finally the day for our first meet rolled around. Mr. Parsons was there and he looked more excited than I had ever seen him. I had a pretty good race and finished 7th overall and 3rd on our team. Our team won the meet which made us all very happy.

After the team meeting, I walked over to Mr. Parsons to thank him for his support. He asked, "Were you pleased with your time?"

"Sure," I answered.

I could tell that Mr. Parsons had something on his mind. "Come, walk with me," he said. As we walked, Mr. Parsons started telling me how the great runners are never happy finishing 7th or 3rd or even 2nd.

"Nigel, you run to win, but you only win when you train and train and train and run as fast as you can!"

I didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. "Coach Kimbell said that cross country is a team sport and that we should be happy as long as the team wins," I explained. Mr. Parsons paused for a minute and said, "I have a great deal of respect for Coach Kimbell, and he is right. Cross country is a team sport, but the team will do much better if all the members run as if they expect to win," he exclaimed. I understood what he meant. The faster I run, the better our team's chances are.

I thanked Mr. Parsons for coming out to see us run and told him I would see him next Monday.

"Before you leave, let me tell you a little story," he said.

We sat down under a huge oak tree and Mr. Parsons stared up into the sky for a few minutes.

"Once upon a time, I was a pretty good runner. In college, I finished 3rd or 4th and even finished 1st in a few races. Even though I finished 1st, I don't think I ever really won a race in my life."

"Wait a minute," I said. "How could you finish 1st and never win a race?"

"Easy, I never ran as fast as I knew I could," he answered.

"I had a talent for running, but I never worked hard enough to be the very best. My goal was to compete in the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo. Did you ever hear of Bob Schul?"

"No sir, I don't think so."

"We grew up together in Ohio. I went off to Briar Creek Community College in Florida, Bob began working out with a coach from one of those Eastern European countries, Hungary or somewhere. His name was Mihaly Igloi. While I was partying in Florida and running 5K's in the 14's and 15's, Bob was winning an Olympic Gold Medal in Tokyo. His time in the Tokyo 5,000 was 13:48.8. I could have been faster, but I was happy in Florida. I was happy finishing first, but I never found out how fast I could have been."

Mr. Parsons paused for a long time, and then, as if he was thinking out loud he said, "I could have done 13:47!"

Then he looked at me long and hard and said, "When I hear you say that you were happy with your 7th place finish, it makes me think back to 1964 and what I missed by being happy instead of being the best. Nigel, don't ever be satisfied just winning.....don't be satisfied until you run as fast as you possibility can!"

I was still not sure what he meant, but it was time for me to leave. The sun was setting and a few stars were beginning to twinkle in the evening sky.

"Look up in the sky,"he said, "do you see all of those stars?"

"Yes sir," I answered.

"In a few minutes, there will be millions of little stars and only a few really bright stars."

"Well, I guess so."

"If those were runners, the tiny little stars would be all those guys who were happy finishing 2nd or 3rd or 9th. One of those tiny little stars could be me. But, the really bright stars....well those are the guys who got everything they could out of that precious gift, the gift of speed. Those are the guys who reached their 13:47."

"Well, thanks again," I said. "I'll see you Monday."

It was getting late and I knew I would have to ride my bike pretty fast to get home before dark.

The last thing I remember was the light turning green just before I started across the street. Then I heard the screeching brakes.

When I woke up, my daddy was standing over my hospital bed. I'll never forget that smile when I said hello. I found out that I had been run down by a hit and run driver as I left the park. That was over 3 weeks ago.

Daddy hugged me and explained that I had received some serious head injuries, a broken collar bone and a dislocated elbow. My chest and entire left side was almost crushed. Fortunately, my helmet had done it's job or my head injuries might have been, well, let's just say it could have been worse.

"Daddy," I asked, "how about my legs?"

"Your legs?" he asked. "We were more worried about your life."

"But daddy, I'm a runner........my legs are my life."

In the next few weeks I began to put the pieces together.

I left the park and was hit almost immediately. Daddy said that the paramedics were not sure if I would ever recover. One of the first medics on the scene, Mitch, said that I was in the street for a while before someone reported the accident. He said that some old dude came running into the ER and reported that a kid had been knocked off his bike near the park entrance.

Nobody knew the old guy or how he got to the hospital, but they do remember that he was huffing and puffing as he ran into the ER.

The only old man in the park that night was Mr. Parsons, I wondered why he did not visit me in the hospital. Surely he had seen the accident.

Mitch said that when they arrived at the scene of the accident, I was lying near my bicycle, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt.

"An old sweatshirt?" I asked. "What kind of a sweatshirt?"

Mitch continued,"It was just some old ratty looking blue shirt, I think it said something like Briar Creek Community College. I think it might have had a big XC on it too."

Briar Creek? I've never had any shirts from Briar Creek. Now where have I heard that name before? Did Mr. Parsons say that he attended Briar Creek college in Florida?

"Daddy, would you mind driving out to the park and show me where I was hit?"

"Are your sure you want to visit that spot this soon?"

"I'm sure."

As daddy left the hospital parking lot I asked him to mark the odometer reading.

"27,345 miles," he said. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

As we approached the park, daddy pointed to a traffic signal.

"Is this the place?" I asked.

"Right there", he replied.

"What is the mileage daddy?" I asked.

"It looks like 27,348.1 miles," he said.

That's only 3.1 miles or 5,000 meters for us cross country runners.

From here to the hospital is 3.1 miles, and I had to wait almost fourteen minutes for help. Wait a minute, I thought. Let me do a little math. My watch stopped at 6:09:23, the accident was reported at 6:23:10, let me see, that's exactly 13 minutes and 47 seconds. Could it be? Did Mr. Parsons get his 13:47 and save my life at the same time?

Daddy looked over and asked, "Nigel, are you okay?"

"Yes daddy, I'm fine."

"Daddy, do you mind if I walk up the trail?"

"Sure, do you want me to walk with you?"

"No sir, I'll only be a few minutes, I'll be fine."

I walked up the hill towards the finish line. I've run this hill dozens of times. The moon was almost full and the new fallen snow was like a picture out of a book. I walked down the hill past the finish line. I paused for minute to look back down the course. I could see the brightly clad runners storming over that last hill. I kept walking past the finish line and there I saw Mr. Parsons' bench. As I approached the bench I noticed that the snow had covered the bench completely, except for a small spot right in the center of the bench. The exact spot where Mr. Parsons used to sit and watch us run had no snow on it. It's as if someone had been sitting there......recently. I looked around, I was alone. Must have been a squirrel or a bird or some animal. Yeah, that's it, some birds. Oh well, I'd better get back to the car, daddy would be worried.

As I walked back to the car, I looked up into the clear Christmas Eve sky. There was not a cloud to be seen. And the stars, well the stars were shining very brightly tonight. As I walked, I couldn't help but notice, there were millions of tiny little stars twinkling all right, but there in the center of all of those little stars, almost directly over Mr. Parson's bench, there was a big bright star. One that I don't remember seeing before.

When I got back to the car, I told dad that I was ready to go home. As I climbed into the car I whispered, "Goodbye Mr. Parsons". I know he heard me.

I knew that I would never see Mr. Parsons again. But I think I know where he is. He is up there among those bright stars and he's smiling down at me, smiling because he finally got that 13:47.

It's been nine years since my accident. Thanks to Mr. Parsons, I trained a little harder and I ran a little faster. I never forgot Mr. Parsons and how he taught me the difference between finishing a race and winning a race. I was in town in late October and decided to visit the park and my cross country course. As I left the hotel, I slipped the case with the Olympic Silver Medal in my pocket. My old high school was hosting a meet the afternoon of my visit. As I watched the runners finish, I noticed that one of the runners seemed to be playing around as he finished. I wondered if I should say anything to him. After all, he should be happy, he just finished 2nd in the race.

I decided to just drive back to my hotel and not bother the kid. As I was leaving, I felt the box holding the silver medal in my pocket. It was then I changed my mind. I turned and walked over to the young man.

"Hello, my name is Nigel," I said, "and I used to be a runner." "Congratulations on your 2nd place finish in the race today. How do you feel about your performance?"

Thanks Mr. Parsons, and don't worry about me. I'm doing just fine, and by the way, in my last race..............I did run as fast as I possibility could!